


The Comforts of Home

by red_savage



Category: Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Gen, Prompt: Coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-21
Updated: 2010-08-21
Packaged: 2017-10-11 04:44:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_savage/pseuds/red_savage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was Steve + Coffee and became (Steve + coffee)*nostalgia/Jarvis rants ... "I wish that wanton would take her cheap vodka and fly back home on her broom-stick."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Comforts of Home

"Good morning, Jarvis."

"Indeed it is, Master Steve."

The clock on the wall read three minutes till six. The sun's rays were already creeping between the skyscrapers. Steve was back from his morning run and as usual the only persons up and about in Tony's expansive home were him and Jarvis. Jarvis was sitting at the table fully dressed reading the morning paper. Steve grabbed the pot out the coffee maker and frowned at the vicious black sludge which oozed at the bottom of the container.

Jarvis glanced over the headlines, "I'm sorry about the shabby state of the scullery, but a certain Ultimate which I'm not going to name --"

Steve couldn't help but raise his eyebrow, because really Jarvis could be talking about any one of them. The man practically resented everyone moving into Tony's Park Avenue townhouse, everyone but Steve and Thor. Who didn't like Thor, besides Steve? It didn't matter as Thor and his raging bands of hippies were never there to stir Jarvis' ire. In a heart beat, Jarvis would talk back to Tony and the rest of the Ultimates with venomous hostility when inconvenienced. Steve wasn't soft and needy, so he did for himself unlike Natasha who would snap her fingers at Jarvis. It wouldn't be beyond her to leave a mess for the butler to clean up.

Jarvis huffed, "It was that vixen, leaving things in disarray during her midnight escapades with Master Tony. Ignorant heifer left the pot on and now it's gone to the consistency of heating oil during a Moscow winter."

Steve holds up a hand, "It's okay. I've got it." Steve turns on the water, grabs the soap and begins washing the coffee pot.

"I see that, darling. I don't know what I would do without you around. I wish that wanton would take her cheap vodka and fly back home on her broom-stick. Master Tony could do better. Big strong men with such refined manners are in such short supply."

Steve kept his eyes on his task and watched the burnt thickened liquid splash down the sink's dark drain, lest he catch Jarvis ogling him, again. He was used to having that effect on women of all ages; sixty-something men who wanted to show you their 'jaunty' waistcoat collection after dinner was something he hadn't quite adjusted to yet. Still he liked Jarvis, despite his insolent disposition made vicious by his wit. There were few who could go toe-to-toe in a war of words with the aging butler. The man always manage to have the last scathing statement.

"I'm flattered you think so," Steve replied. Really what else could he say except, "Thank you."

"It's not flattery if it's true my boy. Now I'll just totter out of your way. I don't expect Master Tony or his mistress of the night to be up and about for several more hours. The morning deliveries will be here soon and I need to speak to a milk man about a cow, excuse me."

Steve heard Jarvis get up and walk out to one of the adjoining hallways. He rinsed the soapy residue off the glass and reached for the off-white flour sack towel that Jarvis kept under the sink. Jan had thought it was funny that Steve's mother had made towels out of flower sacks; however that was how it was now – everything was new and disposable.

Satisfied the coffee pot was clean Steve filled it with water and poured it into the top of the coffee maker. This was his first modern machine that he mastered upon being unfrozen. There was one in the hospital, where all you had to do was put in the small plastic pod of coffee, a cup under the spout, close it and press a button. Seconds later there was fresh hot steaming coffee going into your mug. It was keen.

Steve whistled as he set the empty pot under the brewing basket and pressed the buttons. There was the raspy sound of beans going into the grinder, followed by the tiny roar of the grinder tearing the beans apart before depositing them in the brewing basket. A few moments later the water bubbled as it was heated and forced through the grinds. Within a few minutes, the aroma of heaven wafted out of the coffee maker and out of the kitchen.

Steve sipped his coffee and watched intently as each Ultimate came into the kitchen wearing their night clothes, a robe or in Clint's instance their street clothes from yesterday. Now days few bothered to get dressed before breakfast, or comb their hair – exposed and disheveled was in vogue. The half-asleep automaton parade would shuffle in to open various cabinets, usually the first stop was the one by the coffee maker to get a mug and fill it with the delicious dark nectar within the carafe.

Gail still made coffee the way his mother did in a percolator and while that flavor did conjure up certain happy memories; Steve preferred few things of the modern world and the coffee was one of them.


End file.
